


Unwind

by mildlyholmes



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3289496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildlyholmes/pseuds/mildlyholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She only wanted to relieve his tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwind

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello! Welcome to the evidence of my latest obsession: The Phantom of the Opera. Actually, this obsession isn't that new; I just haven't written anything of Phantom until now.
> 
> Actually that's a lie – I have two Phantom stories that are a work in progress, and I absolutely will not post them until I've finished writing them. Hopefully it will be soon, because I'm aching to add my own fanfics to the POTO fandom.
> 
> But for now, here's some delightful Erik/Christine fluff/smut. I'm not sure how I feel about this, except that EC fluff is something I desperately need and love. They're such an angsty couple, and for good reason, but fluff is healthy for the soul. I've been toying around with the idea of EC after they've found their happy ending, but nothing's set in stone, so feel free to fill in the more ambiguous aspects of the text.
> 
> Events are mostly based on ALW's stage musical, and I imagine Erik to have Susan Kay's backstory.
> 
> Read & review!

He always insisted on working late into the night.

It had been another restless sleep. She had been tossing and turning, subconsciously seeking his comfort, only to wake and find the sheets empty beside her. With a great sigh, Christine sat up in the large bed, pushing the covers down to her waist and blinking sleepily.

There was a pitcher on the bedside table, and she reached for it, taking a few sips of delightfully cool water. Erik had fallen asleep next to her, she was sure of that: she remembered drifting off to sleep in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder and curling into his embrace. She distinctly recalled kissing his jaw sleepily when he had insisted on wanting to compose, stating firmly that he was to remain by her side.

It was obvious that he had crept out of the room as soon as she had fallen asleep.

How he had done so without waking her was a mystery to her. Her legs had been tangled with his, her head trapping his shoulder, one delicate arm draped around his waist. He should not have been able to move without stirring her.

But then again, Erik had never been incapable of any feat, so it did not come as much of a surprise.

Christine was fully awake now, so instead of grumbling off into wakeful dreams, she rose from the bed. The little house they had settled in was quiet, so he could not have been in the music room. She walked barefoot, hugging her arms to her chest as she shivered from her thin nightgown.

The door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar, and light peeked through. Christine padded towards the dimly lit room, nudging the door open with a shoulder and walking into the study.

Her husband sat by the desk, scribbling on a sheet of paper. He was unmasked, as he always was in the privacy of their home, and the shirt he wore was unbuttoned, hanging over his shoulders and proudly displaying his lean chest. The flames of the warm fire blazing highlighted the mangled side of his face, now twisting into a frown at the sight of her by the door. He looked up at the sight of her, features twisting into a frown.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he scowled, setting the quill and parchment aside. She merely shrugged and walked towards his desk, closer to the warmth of the fire.

"You were supposed to be sleeping with me," she retorted. A glance at the parchment showed complex blueprints of yet another building design, and she sighed. The chair he sat on scraped the floor as he pushed it away from the table, letting her drift towards him, standing between his legs.

"Jacque is expecting this by tomorrow," he explained, gesturing towards the design. Her features softened and she gazed down at her weary husband, running her fingers through his uneven hair. Erik had always been a perfectionist, long since he had first started giving her lessons. It was no surprise that he would frown over the blueprints, adding adjustments here and there.

She brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. His pale skin glowed in the firelight, highlighting the distinct contrast between the mangled flesh and the smooth creases of his forehead. "You finished these two nights ago, darling," she reminded him softly, the hand trailing down to stroke his cheek.

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. She was always in wonder at how much he ached for her touch, even after years of admitting their feelings towards one another. It was a painful reminder of his painful past, and her heart twisted at the memory of his upsetting childhood. What had come of his revelation was a fierce need to protect him, to love and shield him from the horrors that haunted him.

As long as she lived, she vowed that he would never face those horrors again.

"Come to bed with me," she said softly, thumb still stroking the distorted cheek. His eyes blinked open and he gave her such a tender look that made her heart ache in her chest, longing to escape the confinement of her ribs and join with its mate.

"Not now, my dear," he murmured, brushing a kiss to her palm.

Christine, however, was not going to take refusal for an answer. The creases on his forehead were clear evidence of his stress, and she was adamant on relieving the tension in his shoulders.

Instead, she gently cupped his face in her hands and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his misshaped lips. She relaxed at the feeling of his arms coming around her waist, and stepped between his parted legs.

Erik gave a disgruntled groan and reluctantly pulled away. He could not help, however, the contentment he felt as she rested her forehead against his, tasting her breath on his lips.

"Erik," she sighed, straightening her back and giving him an exasperated look. "You have been working for hours ever since Jacque gave you that new project. There hasn't been a night where you've slept the entire night in our bed. The design is complete, love. Come to bed with me."

He groaned once more, releasing her hips and running a finger through his dark hair. She was so enticing when she wanted to be, and it took almost all his willpower to resist. "I'm almost done," he insisted, giving her a pleading look.

His pleading did not earn her sympathy. But instead of insisting further, she dropped to her knees in front of him, winding her arms around his neck and kissing his collarbone.

She felt him stiffen beneath her. "Christine…" he warned, but was silenced by her eager lips.

"Jacque is to blame as well," she continued between kisses, "for taming your usually eager hands. We haven't made love in weeks, Erik."

"Christine…"

Her lips curled into a smile at the sound of his submission. She could see how exhausted he had made himself, stressing over the smallest details. Erik was never one to ask for relief, but Christine was never one to deny him pleasure.

Slowly, her fingers unlatched from his neck and made a steady trail down his exposed chest. His heart was beating erratically under her palm as her lips followed the trail, kissing his shoulder, jutting collar and chest. Her lips latched onto a nipple and she felt the groan that resonated deep in his chest.

"Christine," he said again, but she was satisfied to hear his usually smooth voice rough and ragged. "You don't have to –"

"Relax, Erik. I'll take care of you."

He surrendered under the feeling of her tongue circling his nipple, and she felt him lean back into the chair, letting out another groan as he did so. The trousers he wore now showed a large bulge, clear evidence of his arousal, and her hand reached down to stroke him over the fabric.

When Christine had first succumbed to her feelings for him, Erik had been most reserved, flinching at the slightest touch, unused to tenderness. His whole life had been composed of violence, and she had been determined to make him remember that he was loved instead of hated, and would hold her love for as long as she lived.

The first time she told him she loved him, he hadn't believed her. His smile had been condescending but he accepted her kiss anyway. She had frowned and repeated her sentiment, but he merely brushed a strand of hair away from her face, murmuring, "I do not doubt that you believe that, mon ange."

Getting Erik to believe it proved to be much more of a challenge. She had showered him with caresses and kisses, and as each day passed by, he had grown to become more and more expectant of them. His defenses crumbled with every kiss on his mangled cheek, with every touch of his clothed chest. She remembered holding him after the first time they had made love, stroking his hair as he wept silently against her chest.

But now he grew more willing. He let out a ragged gasp at her touch, and she abandoned her task to see him drop his head back, eyes closed in ecstasy. A year ago, he would not have dared to let her pleasure him, always putting her needs above his. The sight of Erik now, breathing heavily and falling apart from her fingers and mouth never failed to send a rush of heat to her belly, and she watched with satisfaction as his eyes crunched tightly shut when she slipped her hand underneath his trousers.

He hissed as her hand closed around his hardened shaft. She flicked her tongue against the other nipple, firm under her tongue. God, how she wanted nothing more than to pull her nightgown over her head and ride him, to make him beg for her.

Ignoring the heat pooling between her legs, she slowly began to move her hand up and down his shaft. He was the one in need of relief here, not her. She would put his pleasure above hers just to hear that melodic voice rasp out her name.

His chest heaved violently as she continued to stroke him, eyes tightly shut. She gazed up at him, feeling nothing but intense desire at the sight of her disfigured husband, moaning her name. How couldn't he be seen as desirable? Erik was a god, and she was his wife.

Even after a year of marriage, the thought brought a giddy feeling to her chest.

His ragged moans, however, could not compare to the hitched cry that escaped his lips when she gave his tip a teasing lick. He stared at her openly now, wide eyes watching her every move with anticipation. She could not help but think of how far they'd come together, how he willingly allowed her to take him into her mouth when he would have protested firmly against anything of the sort before. Holding his gaze, Christine slowly circled his tip with her tongue, drawing out a deep, long moan.

"Oh Christine, my beautiful, sinful angel," he breathed, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. Her curls tumbled down her back in loose waves, and her thumbs stroked the strong thighs beneath her. His eyes were dark with desire, and every line that had been etched upon his face had disappeared, leaving his skin smooth and younger.

Deciding that she had prolonged his torture enough, she parted her lips to take as much of him into her mouth as she could. His response of, "Oh fuck, Christine," came out as a cry, and she felt her desire for him only grow with the hitched moans that escaped from his throat. A younger Erik would never have dreamed of swearing while she made love to him with her mouth, but she had long since convinced him of how aroused she felt every time he lost control for her.

With a constant, steady rhythm, she bobbed her head along his shaft, making sure to leave no part of his manhood untouched. One hand came up to knead his sack, and she grew more aroused by his fingers tangling in her hair, urging her on. She took him deep into the warmth of her mouth, making swallowing motions to accommodate his tip and hearing him cry out above her.

The first time she had done this had been half a year into their relationship. They hadn't gotten married immediately, with Christine feeling uncomfortable after so recently breaking her engagement to Raoul. Instead they found themselves sharing a comfortable routine as she worked at the Opera House, their relationship kept a secret from all apart from the Girys.

During the day, he would watch her perform at rehearsals from the rafters, enticing her with his echoing voice. At nights she would venture down into his home, and would usually spend hours enjoying each other's company before falling asleep in her bed.

She had been particularly overjoyed one night, and had greeted him with an enthusiastic kiss which he received gladly. Breaking the kiss, he laughed as she pressed her forehead to his.

"I sang the aria," she breathed, grinning wildly, hair falling over her forehead.

He had nodded, grinning as wildly as she. "I heard you," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. They had spent countless hours on the new aria, with Christine often stomping off in frustration after each lesson. She could never hit that one note, and had always been disappointed after each rendition.

No more.

She had pressed her lips to his once more, dragging him by the hand impatiently to her bedroom. He had laughed but followed her obediently, his excitement mirroring her own.

They had eagerly undressed each other, impatient to be joined as one, until he had groaned into her mouth when she started pumping his length with her hand. Remembering the countless times where he had buried his mouth in her warmth, making her cry out in pleasure, she coaxed him to lie down on the bed and settled in between his legs.

Erik had frowned down at her, grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her up to lie on top of him.

"What are you doing?" he had demanded, and she had dropped a kiss to his brow.

"I only want to please you, my love," she said, almost begging. Her lips latched onto his neck and he had let out a ragged gasp, kneading his fingers into her hair. "I want to taste you, like you've done with me. Please, Erik, I promise that you will enjoy it."

It had taken a long time of coaxing, but he eventually let her go long enough for her to settle between his legs once more. Giving him a reassuring smile, her tongue darted out for an experimental lick.

His reaction had been immediate. His head dropped back onto the pillow, fingers grasping at the sheets, toes curling beneath her, a drawn out moan filling the air.

The sight made her wet with desire, and she took him into her mouth, eager for a repeat of his reaction.

At the end of the night, neither of them had been disappointed.

It was unbelievable, really, that she was able to make this imposing, intimidating man crumble into pieces with her mouth. His hips were presently thrusting blindly, overcome with lust and the promise of release. She hummed against his throbbing member, and he released a shudder so violent she was afraid he would hurt himself.

The grip on her hair was almost painful, but she did nothing to discourage him, focusing on pleasing him as best as she could. Above her, he was letting out a string of nonsensical words, uttering an occasional swear that only made the throbbing between her legs worse. Her free hand stroked his hip soothingly as her mouth drove him higher and higher, promising a shattering climax.

"Christine," he gasped, and his manhood throbbed under her tongue. "I'm going to – fuck, I'm going to –"

She did not pull away as he came, climaxing hot spurts of fluid into her mouth. She swallowed the sour fluid, moaning at the cry of her name and the fierce tug of her hair beneath his fingers. Suckling gently at his softening manhood, she waited until his body sagged against the chair, exhausted and spent, before gently releasing him from her mouth.

The sight that met her was one she would preserve in her memory forever. Her husband lay against the chair, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, chest rising and falling at the deep, uneven breaths that he took. Erik gazed up at her with the expression of a sated, spent man, and she climbed onto his lap, grinning slyly at him.

"You are unbelievable," he choked out after gathering enough breath to speak, and Christine let out a delighted giggle as his chest rumbled with laughter. She pressed her lips to his and kissed him soundly.

"It's not as if you didn't like it," she pointed out, smiling against his lips. He pulled back, feigning an appalled look.

"Vixen!" he admonished, and pressed his lips to hers, swallowing her answering laugh. He shifted slightly underneath her, and his manhood brushed against her core. She broke the kiss with a whimper, suddenly reminded of her own arousal, hot and slick underneath the nightgown she wore.

She almost laughed when she felt his erection stiffen once more underneath her. Had he not had enough, already?

"I believe my wife requires some attention," he murmured against her lips, and shifted underneath her once more, aching cock pressing against her entrance. She breathed a moan into his mouth, snaking her arms around his neck.

"You know what I want, Erik," she gasped, tilting her head back as he sucked at her neck. He answered her by lifting her hips, pushing aside her nightgown and positioning himself at her entrance, before allowing her to slowly sink down, letting him fill her.

The air was filled with their cry at their joining. "You're so wet, Christine," he rasped against her neck as she moved her hips, gripping tightly at his short tufts of hair.

The sweet heat that had been a stranger to her for weeks was now pleasantly building from within her. He was grinding into her just as she was rocking against him, unified in their search for the ultimate physical pleasure, starved from each other's touch. She let out loud, loose cries every time their hips met, and his groans were growing heavier by the second.

In a sudden rush, he pushed the nightgown up her torso and above her head, letting it fall to the floor. Christine cried out as his mouth latched onto her breast, sucking none to gently and stoking the flame within her core with his delicious tongue. Her hair buried his head within her chest and she gasped, his name as his tongue circled her nipple, his hand pinching at her other breast.

Her orgasm came so suddenly and she felt herself clenching violently around him, shuddering at the intensity of it all. He followed soon after with a hoarse shout, spilling his seed into her, filling her core with himself.

Her head fell limply onto his shoulder, and for a while Christine could do nothing except for breathe heavily. God, how she had missed him. Nothing felt more right than it did right now, with him buried so deeply and intimately inside her, their chests moving in sync as they both fought to catch their breath.

After a while, Christine lifted her head from his shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to come back to bed?"

His answering grin was sly and mischievous. "I don't think I would ever intend on leaving it, my dear."


End file.
